Is this shit really about to happen?
I think it is.
Chapter Two
Harlow Collins
I do not have time for Cole fucking Miller in my life right now.
Yet here we are, headed up to a nearby hotel room with a bottle of whiskey, groping each other furiously.
Like we both haven’t drunk enough already. I don’t know what it is about him. He’s so damn cocky and confident, hardened, and he has amazing tattoos. Still, it has to be something more. I’ve been through my share of men, and women while I was in college, but there’s just a spark there. A spark I’ve never felt before.
Sparks are dangerous.
Sparks derail your life and I’m only twenty-six. I feel like I know who I am already, which is fortunate, but I’m trying to build my firm from the ground up. Relationships and business start-ups don’t mix.
If it was just sex, I’d be totally fine with it. Sex is a biological need. There’s something beneath this, though, and I shouldn’t be going exploring, but I am.
I put the electronic key card in the slot and a bolt retracts, then we both half-walk, half-stumble into the room.
“It’s pretty nice,” I say.
As soon as I turn around, Cole Miller is kissing me, and goddamn he’s kissing me good.
I bite his lip, because he looks like he’s enjoying himself too much and then shove him down on the bed. “Think you can talk to me the way you talked to me at the reception, asshole?”
He smirks and nods. “I think I did. So clearly…”
I’m on top of him before he can say another word, but he does some kind of roll maneuver and has me pinned down beneath him. Shit, I keep forgetting he’s one of the best MMA fighters of all time.
He smirks at me again, and my blood boils even hotter. I strain against him, but it’s really no use.
“Calm down, Collins.”
My blood pressure hits infinity the second he says it. “Calm down, you mother—”
His mouth crashes down on mine, cutting off my sentence, and my nails dig into his back.
When our lips part, all I can gasp out is, “Take your fucking shirt off.”
He wastes no time peeling it up his torso, and holy mother of God, he’s ripped. Solid muscle. And his tattoos…
They’re works of art, especially on his body, which makes me hate him even more right now. He gives me an opening, letting up for just a second, and I crash up into him and have him on his back. Hands and limbs are everywhere, clothes flying in all directions.
Truth be told, this is hot. Like super, super out-of-this-world hot. Angry, frustrated sex is the best kind.
The room spins a little from all the rolling around and the whiskey at the reception, but fuck, Cole Miller does things to me, which is strange because I’ve never looked at him like this until tonight. Seeing him in a tuxedo, it was like he was a totally different man. He looked stately, refined, but then his tattoos peeked out at the bottom, and I just wanted to grab his face and shove it between my legs.
Cole yanks me from my thoughts when two of his fingers slide deep inside me, rough as hell. A gasp parts my lips before I can hold it in.
“You can act as mad as you want.” His mouth lands next to my ear. “Look how fucking wet you are.”
I start to say something else and he takes his fingers even deeper, then circles my clit with his thumb.
My whole body constricts, and I squeeze around him.
How the hell is he about to get me off already? No man has ever come close to putting me on the edge this quick. He’s the perfect balance of delicate and rough, a damn sex artist. Cole Miller is a sex artist.
I reach up and grip as much of his hair in my hand as I can, and yank on it so his face is turned toward mine. “What are you gonna do about it?”
His smirk tells the whole story. He is by far the cockiest asshole I’ve ever met in my life, and it looks like it’s for good reason. He could breathe on my clit right now and I’d come apart from the inside.
“Whatever the fuck I want.” His mouth crashes onto mine again, his fingers pumping in and out of me.
I reach for his cock, and shit, it’s big, and the perfect shape. I’ve handled a few weirdly misshapen dicks in my day, and Cole Miller’s is perfect in size and symmetry.
I stroke him a few times, then squeeze my hand around it as hard as I can. His eyes bulge from his head the second I do it, and he stares right at me like what the fuck?
I stare right back at him with a hard glare. “You have permission to fuck me, but you wear a condom. Understand?” I squeeze him a little harder.
He nods, very quickly.
I go back to stroking him in a way I’m sure feels much more pleasant.
Cole kisses down my neck and whispers, “Fucking psycho.”
I smile the second he says it, where he can’t see. “Don’t fucking forget it, either.” My eyes roll back when his lips meet my neck, then come back and land on his. “I think that’s what you like about me.”
He doesn’t need to respond because he works down between my legs, and holy God when his mouth lands on my pussy. If he’s halfway as skilled with his tongue as he is with his fingers, this is going to happen fast. Very fast.
And he is.
Within seconds I’m bucking my hips against his face, and he pins both of my legs down so hard I couldn’t move if I wanted to.
I squirm against his grip because it’s so damn intense. He’s using fingers, tongue, everything. “Don’t stop. I’m so close.” I know it’s a mistake the second I say it.
He stops and smiles at me.
I give him the death glare.
His eyes lock on mine and he barely dips his tongue out and grazes my clit with it. My whole body shudders, but I can’t get my release and it’s agony and bliss all wrapped up in one package. I glare back at him.
He grins, clearly enjoying teasing me.
“Don’t be a fucking prick.”
“Why? I think that’s what you like about me.”
I shouldn’t grin at him, but I do. I can’t help myself.
Right as he smiles back, I reach down and grab the back of his head, then force his mouth onto me. Okay, I’m pretty sure he let me do it, but something in that moment where he let me feel like I was in control…
I think there may have been feelings involved.
Non-biological feelings, and this might be the best mistake I ever make in my life.
It’s like we have our own rhythm together, which is rare in the bedroom. I like to fuck men. It’s not a big deal and I don’t hide it, well, except from my family because they really are psychos when it comes to me. As long as I’m being safe, I can do whatever the hell I please, though.
And I’ve banged some duds that seemed promising. But Cole Miller is pitching a perfect game so far and he hasn’t even been inside me yet.
His big hands wrap around my thighs and he yanks me against his mouth, then takes two fingers deep and focuses on my clit with his tongue.
The second he makes contact, my back arches off the bed.
Finally.
The orgasm rolls through me in giant undulating waves, and I have no idea what I’m even saying out loud right now, but there’s no doubt it’s probably embarrassing as hell. This man just went down on me better than any man or woman ever has; better than I can get myself off with a vibrator.